


One for Sadness, Two for Mirth

by NancyBrown



Series: Rabbit Hole AU [4]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Community: help_haiti, Multi, Oral Sex, Rimming, Romance, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-04
Updated: 2010-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyBrown/pseuds/NancyBrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a first time for everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One for Sadness, Two for Mirth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Askance](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Askance).



> Spoilers: up through CoE  
> **Warnings: **mention of bodily fluids associated with childbirth  
> **Wordcount: **2300  
> **Summary: **PWP. There's a first time for everything. Part of the Rabbit Hole AU, but knowledge of that universe is _really_ not necessary for this. ("Six Hundred Seconds," "Wonderland," "Morning After," "Season of Grace")  
> **A/N: **Written for **askance** in the **help_haiti** auction. Unbetaed.

This is nothing like she pictured, though honestly, she's never pictured _this_. A third - and oh, the look on Jack's face when he found out he wasn't the first to join them in their bed - makes everything new, with a fractured clarity that she absently misses when it's just the two of them. Victoire was blonde from a bottle, studied history at the university, and joined them infrequently for about six months before she transferred to Strasbourg. Lisa can still recall the musky taste of her, touch the sense-memory of her soft breasts, and there are nights when she is reaching for the tipping point of her own climax that she remembers the feel of Victoire's mouth on her, and that's enough to push her over.

Jack is nothing like Victoire.

His hands are hot on her shoulders, burning into her while his mouth is a cooler fire. This is madness, she's sure. She's known him less than a month, has known the stories of him for years, but he is here kissing her now, while her husband watches, his eyes wide and his mouth swollen from the kisses he just shared. There's wine in her veins, not so much that she cannot decide for herself, but enough to make her stomach warm, make her wet as Jack's hands slide down her body to stroke against her inner thigh - Not touching! Damn him. - and down to the sensitive curve of her knees.

"I never had you," he says into her mouth. All night he's told them impossible things. A world so close to this one they could touch it. A past where Lisa died at Canary Wharf. A lifetime where Ianto found solace with Jack.

"You still haven't," she teases. Her clothes are crumpled on the floor, though, and tonight is not ending anytime soon. Her eyes slide off him, onto Ianto, and there, that's the spark they haven't had, not quite, not since Victoire boarded the train. She draws him close and their mouths brush, a tentative first time although she's kissed him so often that she knows the taste of his mouth like her own.

Jack's hands stroke everywhere he can reach, over her shoulder to the place at the back of her neck that makes her shiver, down Ianto's side to the curve of his hip. Ianto is hard, and she wants to take him into her mouth, wonders if she does, if Jack will rub those strong arms down her back, slide home inside of her from behind. The thought makes her wetter, the dampness on her leg worrying her for a fraction of a second, but her lochia ended weeks ago. Her body is not quite hers again, not with her breasts as heavy as they are (not full, she fed the baby, but they betray her at bad times, Ianto avoids them when they make love because of the pain and the mess) and she trembles with the thought that this, this will be what stops her tonight.

Lisa leans back, away.

"Show me," she says, in excuse and in challenge. "You know him so well. Prove it."

Jack's face breaks. She'll come to know that face, later, but tonight she cannot identify the emotions, tastes what she assumes must be gratitude on his tongue as Jack bends in to kiss her deeply, pushing her back against the pillows.

When he pulls back from her, his eyes are locked on Ianto, and Lisa knows if she placed a hand between them now, she would scorch, fall to cinders. Ianto's face is full of something that could be fear and could be the chilly curiosity he spoke of after his first real talk with Jack, up on the roof against the wind. Part of him has wanted this from the beginning, because Jack is Jack and not wanting him is like not breathing, like stopping your own heart from beating, she thinks.

Jack's lips are on him again, biting that soft spot on his clavicle, the place Lisa knows so well, as Jack's fingers find the tender spots on his calves. Ianto moves his own hands, tentative but desirous, over the muscles on Jack's arms, down to the curve of his buttocks, but not further, not yet. Jack is not so shy, not ever, and he finds the tight nub of nipple, works one and then the other with his teeth, as Lisa covers her mouth with her hand. She knows, has known, how to make her husband cry out, knows where to place her lips and fingers to coax out the needy sounds, but Jack is playing him like a desperate cellist, reaching for perfection in his very last performance.

"Like this," Jack says, and he presses his arms to push Ianto over onto his hands and knees, his face suddenly right in front of Lisa.

"Wait," he says. "I'm not … Not yet … "

"It's okay," Jack says, and she can tell Ianto wants to believe him, because Jack makes people want to believe him, and she bends to kiss Ianto, steal his attention away from whatever Jack has planned, a gift she can offer.

She can't see, not with her face against his, and her eyes close, so when he gasps and cries out suddenly, it's a surprise, and her heart hurts for him until she registers the cry as pleasure. Lisa tilts her head, sees Jack behind him, hands stroking the flesh on his arse, and his mouth is … Ianto cries out again, as Jack's tongue darts in and around, and Lisa is lost for air, watching. She takes his face into her hands, and one of Jack's hands slips down and out of sight as he presses his mouth in again with his own grunt of pleasure. He's setting a rhythm with his hand, echoing in Ianto's gasps.

It's pain now, almost, on Ianto's face, and then he shouts in bliss, semen striking her leg wetly. She kisses him again, urging the moans from him as he quakes and stills. When he can move, he rolls to one side, lies there, breathes. She watches him. Jack watches him.

"So," he says at last. "We did that a lot, you say?"

"Only on the good nights."

"Ah."

Jack's head turns, and he pins Lisa to the pillows again, this time just with his eyes. Questions there: does she believe him, trust him, want him?

Ianto's hand reaches out, and takes hers, and she sees the contentment there, and more. If she calls an end now, he will follow her lead. She is his and he is hers, and this is just something to do in the night with this man. Yes.

Maybe Jack sees the yes in her eyes, maybe he just hopes it's there, but he moves across the bed to her, like he's crossing a chasm, and she wants to recoil as he presses his mouth to hers - she saw the last place he put it - and then it's just another part of kissing him, just another way of making love to the man she married. Jack is not desperate with her. Jack has never stroked Lisa's skin this way before in any of his lifetimes, and she arches back as he glides his palms over her breasts, wants him to stop before her traitorous body ruins the moment, and oh God, his mouth is there, and he's just right. Her fingers dig into Ianto's hand, grasping at him for safety, for sanity.

"Please," says Jack, into the curve of her right breast, lips hot against her. "Please."

She nods, not able to speak, and he turns, groping for the night stand where they set the box of condoms. He rips one from the perforation holding it to the rest, palms it against her. "Let me taste you," he says, sliding wet kisses down her stomach, and she knows this is part of his game, she can see it from a hazy distance: offering up more pleasure while checking to see if she's wet and ready for him.

Lisa moans at the first wet stripe against her outer lips, and then her second moan is swallowed as Ianto pulls himself over, kisses her. This she remembers, from before, and when her eyes move down, she half-expects bottle-blonde hair spread in a shock over brown thighs, expects Ianto to lick out of her mouth to move down to the far end of the bed, slide his own condom-covered cock inside the beautiful woman between Lisa's legs. But it's Jack, and the rules are not the same, and Lisa thinks that if this continues, if there is a second night, a third, they might. They will. Jack's teeth, covered by the edges of his lips, will bite at her clit, and as he laves her with his tongue, she will watch Ianto's face change as he slides home for the first time into Jack's body.

Tonight, she feels the warmth rise in her belly, before it spills out of her through her pores, pulling a shout from her throat into Ianto's mouth.

Every nerve sparks, alive, and she knows she can hit the peak again with just a little more pressure. Jack rises to his knees, the desire as strongly written on his face as it is on the rest of his body.

"You should," Ianto says, and pushes her, just so. She can see he's growing aroused again, but not yet, not just yet. She gets to her own knees and pushes Jack onto his back, her hands moving over his, helping him open the packet, ghosting her hands over his as the condom unrolls on his cock. She places her knees around him, feels his heat thrumming against her everywhere and then he's sliding into her, and she claws the sheets beside his shoulders as she takes him in, slowly until her weight is on him and they are joined completely. Her body adjusts itself. Years since she's had another man this way, and the feeling is different and it's exactly the same as he bends his knees and begins thrusting into her, his face contorting.

She feels Ianto sliding up behind her, kneeling in the hollow between their legs, wrapping his arms tight around her. If he wants her, if he asks, right now she will let him take her, slicked up inside her from behind, filling her the way they do on the neediest nights with his cock buried in her arse and the blue dildo in the drawer sunk deep inside her cunt. If he asks. But he doesn't, instead rubs against her back, a slower friction to the one she's making with Jack. Ianto's right hand slides down the soft swell of her belly through the tangle of her hair to where she's joined to Jack, and as his fingers brush her, Jack's hand touches his, and then they are both _right there_ and she spikes back up that beautiful peak, a hum lost in her throat as she comes and comes. Jack's rhythm hitches, and she thinks this must be what he's like when he's close, mouth hung open, eyes squeezing shut, and her muscles are not what they were, but she squeezes and that's enough. That's just enough.

When his breathing has stilled, Lisa bends down to kiss him, and Jack chuckles warmly - later, she will learn he always fills sex with laughter - holding the condom as he pulls out of her. Ianto's hands are firm on her hips, and he's continuing his gliding motion without pushing her.

It's nice. This is nice.

Less nice is the squelch as the knotted condom hits the floor, a sad bag of fluid. But she can't go back on the Pill yet, not really, and they are not interested in having a fourth child. The third had been a big enough shock. So.

Ianto is still moving against her as she tilts her head back. "I see you're ready for another round," she says into his mouth, and he answers by squeezing her more tightly.

Jack makes a noise in his throat. "Have I mentioned I love how fast you recover?"

"No," Ianto says, and his hand moves forward, strokes against Jack's softened cock, pulling a pleased growl from Jack. Lisa watches, fascinated, but then, she supposes it's safe now, for Ianto. He's clearly enjoying this so far, but he's just as clearly unsure of what comes next, both tonight and tomorrow. Monday mornings are made for uncomfortable conversations.

Jack has probably never had room in his head for uncertainty, Lisa thinks, as he rolls up onto his elbows, wraps one large hand around Ianto's, helps him massage the flesh under his fingers. There's no way he's ready again, but this wouldn't be about ready. This is about fear, and desire. Lisa settles to the side, one hand on Ianto's waist, as Jack inches closer, coaxes Ianto to rest against the headboard, spreads himself out on his stomach, on his elbows, and with a glance, takes Ianto's cock into his mouth. The sounds he makes are obscene, as he sucks and slurps, slowly bringing Ianto back to the edge. Lisa lays down on one elbow beside them, her hand stroking skin as she can reach it, content to pet and poke, eventually pushing just the tip of her little finger to the same spot Jack placed his tongue before. Ianto's whole body jerks, pushing into Jack's throat with the kind of thrusts that poke her palate and send water racing to her eyes every time, but Jack drinks him down like rainwater.

Lisa thinks Ianto will shy away from kissing him, but then, he never does when her mouth is the one flavoured with his come. He doesn't now. Again she sees curiosity mingled with contentment on his face. Jack just looks like he's come home for the first time in years. Lisa doesn't know what her own face says. She knows she is warm, and happy, and very sleepy, and that the baby will wake up soon wanting fed, and she has work in the morning. She and Jack ought to carpool, she thinks, and covers her laugh with her hand again at the inanity.

Jack settles to Ianto's other side, still holding him like a child holds a blanket for security. His eyes are wide awake in the dark room, and they find hers, and for a second, she thinks she reads a match to her challenge there. If this is a competition …

Jack sits up again, reaches for the duvet so they can all find warmth, and his face is far more naked than the rest of him. No. Not a contest, not a war, not squabbling over the man they both love (Jack's face, when he told his impossible story, and she knew then out of all the lies he could be telling, the one of omission was the worst). Jack is not intent on winning a prize. He's offering what he is, and she can read the tightly-held terror that, when dawn breaks, they will thank him for the evening's entertainment and turn him out.

Lisa snakes her arm over Ianto, takes Jack's hand as he squeezes closer to the man between them. Beds are hard to navigate with three people, but hearts always have room for one more.


End file.
